An Alias Worth the Wage: Ikimono Gakari
by PariahPandemonium
Summary: In a way, she had been an accidental addition, to a story that so much darker than the one she had left. Then she began to realize, that she couldn't change everything with sheer will. So she decided to pursue the dream that she had left in her glory days


Hiya people, how's it going? I decided to make something serious, because the idea kept appearing in my mind for the past year, but then I started writing other stories, and then more ideas popped into my head, but this one was the most prominent.

**REVIEW, I'D LOVE YOU'RE OPINION!**

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**Synopsis:** In a way, she had been an accidental addition, to a story that so much darker than the one she had left. Then she began to realize, that she couldn't change everything with the swipe of the finger. For in order to make a change, one must now how to make the change. So she decided to pursue the dream that she had left in her glory days. Ikimono Gakari, a stolen alias that had become a true name in the sea of lies.

* * *

Umbrella and rain clashed melodiously in a manner that suggested harmony.

The girl had loved the rain, and felt melded, meshed, and drawn to the sound of pattering. It sparkled with the moon and brightened with the sun, giving light to the world even if so gray the sky would turn, the light would stay.

It would make a heart tumble and a firecracker spark, and make petals fly and dazzled the grass with morning dew and soft sunlight to wash the earth ending long droughts and rain in feverous motion.

She had always wanted to write and draw and create, and most of all sing.

Sing with all her heart, mind, soul and strength, and be something to the world.

Love met the notes of another as the bells chimed one, and she scurried off, perhaps thinking of arriving again.

* * *

Have you ever seen someone die?

Imagine blood and feces, gore and horror placed in a turmoil of crimson.

It made a stomach turn in a horrible way, crashing like waves against the ocean until your thought became a muddled mess of mush and trauma.

Imagine it all washed away, but you could still feel it, see it, imagine it, remember it.

That was the trauma of seeing death.

But no one can truly say they had experienced it for themselves.

You can claim you've been to heaven, hell, purgatory, rebirth but no one has ever clearly explained how it felt to die.

I'll tell you how it felt.

It felt like a sudden realization of how death comes so quickly and fast that you wonder if you can ever relive it again. It was a quick realization with pain and all but the feeling of how you left the world, someone you loved, that can not be just thrown into the puddle of things you can think about later.

I had a life, a home, a dream, a family, someone I loved.

It was sick to think that people could push the thought of death aside and continue with life, knowing that they died.

But that was the kind of strength that I did not have.

The strength to push through trouble, and blast through thinking not of yourself but of another future. It was the selflessness that I did not have.

I was selfish, undeniably selfish.

But I was a flesh and bone human with feelings to boot and selfishness, a vast selfishness to come with that humanity.

* * *

Then came the thought of being pushed into another soul, another body that wasn't yours, another life that would have never existed if it wasn't for you.

If it wasn't for you, you would have been pushed into another reality.

If you had not been born, things would go by the proverbial book and cast away into heaven with the book of life.

But the book was not so much of importance.

A world was a book in the vast sea of other books, tucked away in heaven, waiting for someone to 'accidentally' tear a piece of another book and glue and paste it to the ordinary book.

To change the story, make it interesting.

Because gods want an interesting story to read.

* * *

My story was at the least bit interesting, a headline that could have been smashed into the news paper and acknowledged with a murder story giving people more entertainment and contamination to fill up the mind with lies.

Of course my life was undoubtedly par to a murder story because in my mind, I was currently conjuring up murder.

You wan't to change something?

There is always a catch, a trick, a small little tidbit of something you forgot to bite you back in the butt another day.

Anyways, my first name was a common name, consisting of Kama Akane.

Red scythe.

Paste the word into a proverbial Mary Sue story, and finally it would conjure up a cliche. It was one of those names that irked you badly, itching to change the name and give something that wouldn't stand out and separate you from all the others.

Suddenly, I was born and the death of my mother shocked the oceans and death was suddenly back, etched into my mind.

I forced myself to forget, giving me strength as I thought of my legacy. I could have thought of how I knew I was stuck here, but I just felt it.

Headbands don't fly up and smack you in the face without a sole purpose.

When I lifted my hands up I was was fed, pampered, and loved to the death of me.

How ironic.

* * *

The vile word spat at me another time as I was suddenly faced with nuke-nin to be, in toddle face and diaper form.

It was Hidan, one that I would acknowledge to be superior of me and ultimately stronger. I was just a smart little girl in the form of a stupid little baby in a cloth.

The boy toddled up to me in a crib and stared down at me, his purple eyes suddenly shining me in sympathy.

Masochists were not made to be sympathetic.

But I knew why he pitied me.

Because I didn't want to be pampered, loved, treated helpless and soft because I was a girl, a girl who was not accepted into the world.

In short, the inhabitants of the Bath Village were not only masochist but another form of sexist as well.

Even to diaper wielding, drooling, tantrum-prone toddlers.

I understand your pain, fellow reborn sisters.

* * *

I began to grow ultimately in size and shape and felt myself mirroring my older brother, Hidan. He was thick in stature but still gruesomely handsome. He had a sculpted, chiseled chin, and harsh, fierce, wild purple eyes, making me stare until I began to compare my self to him.

I was meek and so very quiet but then I realized one day coming home, with the thought of death hanging over my head, that a backbone was needed.

It was so very needed, that to the extent of my life, the choice had to be followed.

My hair was longer, my eyes were sharper, and in a world of shinobi I had became model, a model of stealth.

Even as the burden hung over my head, I remembered all past events.

I had to remember, that I was growing up, again.

Ever so closer to Hidan's betrayal of the clan.

Then so I began to love my older brother.

Then my life became ever so more complicated.


End file.
